


Ballet and Baths

by kittensandcake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Exchangelock AU Exchange 2014, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, balletlock, exchangelock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1932894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittensandcake/pseuds/kittensandcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets soaked in a downpour as he comes back from ballet practice, and his good doctor has to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ballet and Baths

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for willperform4food as a part of the Exchangelock programme on tumblr, who asked for balletlock and sickfic :) I hope you enjoy it!

When it rained in London - and it almost always did rain there - it could rain in one of three ways. The first way was a light drizzle that resembled mist more than ran, that turned the streets of London foggy with a strange kind of green tinge that was supplied by the Thames, a fog that only allowed the brightest of streetlamps to shine through, and which left anyone who walked through it damp and irritated. The second type of rain was a kind that pitter-pattered politely on doors, windows and rooftops, a rain that was used to in London. It watered the city and left it to shine in the daylight, adding a sheen to the pavements and buildings that no other rain could do. And then...there was the downpour. Rain that was less like rain and more like a sheet of water that had just appeared over London, rain that thoroughly soaked anyone who dared to try and walk through it, let alone try to go through it without an umbrella. That rain soaked even the most protected of Londoners, to the point where a full-body wetsuit was by far the only possible option to keep oneself dry. 

Sherlock had been caught out in such a rain. With his ballet things slung over one shoulder, the man had been more than content to simply walk home, even with the thundery dark clouds hanging over the city like a threat. But when the skies had - quite literally - opened onto Sherlock, he had quickly started to run. When he arrived back home at the flat, he'd banged on the door until his boyfriend had finally, finally opened the door, and by that point he was wet to the bone, frozen, and unable to feel his fingers. 

"Christ," John stared down at Sherlock with wide eyes, quickly ushering the other into the warm building and shutting the door behind him, the sound of the rain fading from a wet roar to a more comforting rumble outside. "You're bloody...did you walk home again? I told you it was going to rain, you didn't even take a bloody umbrella with you-"

"I'd prefer it if you'd save me the lecture," Sherlock snapped back, dropping his bag at his feet along with his soaked jacket and shoes before he was stamping up the stairs, shivering from head to toe. Like the good boyfriend he was, John collected up the sopping things and followed Sherlock - the trail of water that dripped off of the man wasn't too hard to find on the stairs - dumping everything beside the fire before he glared down at the other where he'd slumped into his armchair. 

"You," He pointed at Sherlock, resting his hands on his hips. "Clothes off, into the washing basket, and you're going to have a warm bath. Then soup, medicine, and sleep,"  
Sherlock looked back up at John with an exceedingly irritated look on his face before sneezing wetly, the violent motion making his damp curls flutter around his forehead. 

"What? I don't need to be mollycoddled, John. I can just towel off and go to bed," Sherlock shrugged and got up, disappearing into his room along with a towel he'd pinched from outside of the bathroom. John glared after him, wanting to make him stay and help him warm up, but after a moment he merely sighed and slumped down into his own armchair, quite willing to let Sherlock get cold. For God's sake, he was always helping Sherlock, so he'd be damned if he'd help him this time. Let him 'sleep it off', then. See where that got him. So John settled himself down and tugged out his paper, more than willing to bet that Sherlock would be a whiny mess in the morning. 

//////

"John!"  
"John?!"  
"I know you can hear me, Jo- atchoo!" 

Obviously, he'd be like that in the morning. John stood in the kitchen with pursed lips as he looked up to the ceiling, two mugs of tea gently steaming in front of him. Brilliant. So, Sherlock was sick. But not sick enough to be meek and quiet. Sick enough to demand things, yet get away with it. John stirred a little more sugar into his own mug of tea before he padded back down to their room, looking at the sight before him. 

Sherlock looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes even more prominent on his pale skin, but that wasn't really the most noticeable thing about him. His normally - fairly - tame curls were bunched up on one side and sitting at even more weird angles than usual, looking lank and lacklustre. His nose was shiny and red, his lips were parted so that he could breathe properly, all with the sheets bundled up around him as he sneezed again and coughed, his entire body sagging back down onto the bed. "Is that for me? Good," Sherlock muttered, reaching for the tea before John stepped back a fraction and shot him a look. 

"You're an idiot, you know that right?"

"John, just...I need to be at the studio soon, we're rehearsing for-"

"Sherlock bloody Holmes, you are not doing any rehearsing today. Your feet are black and blue, you're more stressed than I've ever seen you, and you have a cold. Possibly the flu. Therefore, you are staying at home today, and you are going to rest. Got it?" 

Oh. Sherlock could see that John meant business when he went into this mode; straightened back, his eyes stern, his entire posture giving Sherlock a hint to his military past. Sherlock sighed as he looked at the other, considering a mutiny for a moment before he merely sighed again and nodded, holding his hand out for the mug. "Yes. I get it," He mumbled pathetically, encircling the mug in both frozen hands before blowing at it, and taking a sip. 

"Good," John looked at Sherlock, holding onto his stern demeanour for a few more moments before he let out a soft huff and sat on the edge of the bed, tucking a loose curl behind Sherlock's ear and stroking his cheek. "Don't worry, love. You'll be alright, and I'll make sure you're all ready to go back tomorrow. You can have a bath, have some good food, sleep...it'll be good," Sherlock did perk up a little at the mention of a bath, before John raised his eyebrows at him. "But we're not going to do anything, you horny bastard. You're my patient, and I'm going to treat you as such," 

"But it is said that an orgasm is the best cure for a headache. And a cold. Lots of good chemicals released in the brain; dopamine, oxytocin, endorphins..."

"Which I know all about," John sighed and stroked Sherlock's hair again, passing a tissue when the other sniffed especially loudly. "But you're also tender from ballet. I've seen those toes of yours, and what you need today is rest, alright?" John glanced down at Sherlock's feet, and sighed ever so softly. They really were a mess, as would be the rest of his body if he didn't get Sherlock to relax now and then. "Don't worry. I'm sure you won't miss much. And besides, they can't do much without their leading male," He smiled and kissed Sherlock's warm forehead gently, before he got up and stretched. "I'll go and run you a bath, alright?" Sherlock nodded with another sneeze, causing John to pack out of the room and sigh softly, running a hand through his hair. Idiot. 

//////

The bath steamed gently as John turned off the taps, running his hands through it to check it wasn't too warm before glancing up, smiling when he caught sight of his boyfriend, lingering in the doorway with his dressing gown hanging off of one shoulder, and a hangdog expression on his face. "Come here," John sighed, gesturing with one hand until Sherlock wearily padded into the bathroom, looking half-dead already. "You are such a drama queen," John's titters were soft as he pushed the robe off of Sherlock's shoulders and to the floor, the blue silk being followed by a shirt, the man's threadbare pyjama bottoms, and a pair of boxers. John smiled as he ran his hands down the other's sides, only to feel long fingers plucking at his shirt. "You're sick, Sherlock. I'm not about to get into the bath with you," 

"What if I can't wash myself? What if I need some body heat from you?" Sherlock smiled as coyly as he could with a blocked nose, leaning in to kiss the other before John pulled back, and rolled his eyes. 

"Firstly, I don't want to get infected. And secondly, you won't need body heat from me. The bath is nice and warm," John smiled as he wound his arms around the man's waist, only to guide him in the direction of the bath and smile as he climbed in. Sherlock had gotten sick a few times before this one, and it was always entertaining to see what he was like. Most of the time he just played the pathetic card, and relied on his 'doctor' to fix him, which was a role that John was more than willing to fill, especially when Sherlock was so wonderfully affectionate towards him.  
So John helped him to bathe, washing his body and even soaping up his curls before washing him clean, helping him out of the bath and waiting with a towel. It was nice to see Sherlock subdued, really, to have that mind calmed for a few hours so that he could just rest. The next thing on John's list was to get Sherlock to go back to bed, but when he mentioned that he had work to do Sherlock adamantly refused, and instead joined John in the living room. He drank tea, he insulted the people on the telly, and generally irritated John as he tapped away on his laptop. But that changed, when he felt kisses being pressed to the nape of his neck, and arms sliding from their blanket and dressing gown combination to wind around his waist. 

"Absolutely not. I'm not going to take advantage of my patient," John's voice was curt, but not unkind as he continued to type, making only one mistake when the other nibbled gently on his ear. 

"I'm not your patient now, I've been feeling a lot better, and I have done a lot more stretching during practise..." Sherlock's voice thrummed gently in his ears as the man leaned closer, nosing at the back of John's head. John could feel a smile on the other's lips, and he sighed softly as he saved and turned away from the screen, looking up at Sherlock.  
"You're so pushy. But, like I said, I don't want to get infected. Especially with such a bad cold, I'm a doctor for God's sa-" John's words were cut off as Sherlock kissed him, his eyes rolling until they shut as the man turned his chair, making it harder for John to turn away and complain he had work. When they both took a breather, John glared up at Sherlock, one hand already pressed to the man's chest. "Great. Now I'm going to have to gargle with antibacterial gel," 

"Worth it though, hm?" Sherlock grinned as he kissed John again, urging the other up off of the chair and down onto the sofa, leaving the both of them to sit up as he stroked a hand through John's short hair. John eventually gave in and let them kiss for a while, only to break it off and push a hand through Sherlock's still damp curls. 

"No more until you're better. Otherwise you'll stay sick for longer, and then who won't be able to dance next week?" 

At his words, Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes, but instead of pushing his luck - as John thought he might just do - he shuffled a little closer and rested his head on John's chest, tugging a blanket around them as his eyes returned to the telly. 

"Then no more work for you," He muttered, curling up so that he was more or less on top of John, acting like a second blanket for the man. John did consider complaining and telling Sherlock that, no, he couldn't waste his day watching TV with Sherlock on his lap, but as he was opening his mouth Sherlock changed channels, and a Bond movie suddenly appeared on the screen. "Would you look at that?" Sherlock murmured softly, and John could practically hear the smirk on his lips as he draped an arm across the doctor's chest. John sighed, resting his hand on Sherlock's head and resting his arm across the other's shoulder. 

"You are in so much trouble right now," 

"Good,"


End file.
